OUR PETS. 175 



Only loved beyond that line, 

 With a love that answers thine, 

 Loving fellow-creature ! 



ON THE GRAVE OF A FAITHFUL DOG. 



Theee trees which stand apart upon 

 A sunny slope of meadow ground, 



A shadow from the heat at noon, 

 And underneath a grassy movmd. 



A little silent grassy mound ! 



And is this all is left of thee, 

 Whose feet would o'er the meadow bound, 



So full of eager life and glee ? 



Of " thee ? " and may I say e'en this 

 Of what so wholly pass'd away ? 



Or can such trust and tenderness 

 Be crush'd entirely into clay 'I 



The voice whose welcomes were so glad, 

 Feet pattering like summer showers ; 



The dark eyes which would look so sad 

 If gathering tears were dimming ours. 



Those wistful, dark, inquiring eyes. 

 So fond and watchful, deep and true ; 



That made the thought so often rise — 



What looks these crystal windows through ? 



Didst thou not watch for hours our track, 

 And for the absent seem to pine ? 



And when the well-known voice came back, 

 What ecstasy could equal thine ? 



Is it all lost in nothingness. 



Such gladness, love, and hope, and trust ; 

 Such busy thought our thoughts to guess. 



All trampled into common dust? 



